


did you know you'd smile

by Padraigen



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, Insecure Steve Rogers, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Self-Love, Self-cest, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Time Travel, older Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, older steve comes to help, younger steve doesn't know how to ask for what he wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 15:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21056705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padraigen/pseuds/Padraigen
Summary: In which Steve Rogers loves himself.





	did you know you'd smile

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the Happy Steve Bingo 2019 square "Laugh Lines."
> 
> This fic came about when I asked myself why all the fics I've read featuring two (or more) Steves always seem to have one or both of them hating each other. In this fic I decided to do something different.
> 
> I would say that the tags and description make it sound more porny than it is, but it is, in fact, exactly as porny as it sounds. So, yeah.
> 
> Anyway, this is pure ridiculousness, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! (Unbeta'd, so I apologize for any glaring mistakes.)

Another day’s battle leaves Steve dirty, his skin a canvas for mottled bruises—some brand new, others a couple days old—and nicks and lacerations. He hasn’t had time to shower yet, and at this point, even he’s beginning to feel run down.

They’ve been fighting the same foe for almost a week now. He worries that if they don’t find a way to stop the aliens coming out of that portal soon, they’re not going to be able to keep up with them for much longer.

Right now, he’s supposed to be figuring out a way to combat them. Well, actually right now he’s supposed to be showering, but after that he’s supposed to be determining a plan for defeating them. Stark’s supposed to be figuring out a way to close the damn portal. Romanoff’s supposed to be reporting back to SHIELD. Banner’s supposed to be studying one of the alien carcasses SHIELD had picked up. And Barton’s supposed to be doing whatever Barton does after a battle (Steve is abashed for not being entirely sure).

In any case, _none _of them are doing what they’re supposed to be doing. Instead, they’re staring at the man who has appeared out of nowhere in the middle of Stark’s penthouse where they all had just arrived after the battle.

Steve understands there must be conversations, questions being asked and answers being provided, going on around him, but he doesn’t hear them. He’s too busy gaping.

At _himself_.

Because that _is _him standing casually in the middle of the penthouse. He would know; he spent enough time staring at himself in the mirror after he got the serum, trying to catalogue all the changes made to his body.

Although, the more he studies the other him, the more he can distinguish subtle changes from the Steve Rogers he sees every morning in the mirror. This Steve is distinctly… older. He’s not sure how he knows that, seeing as the other Steve doesn’t have any graying hairs or obvious wrinkles. He just seems more… weathered somehow. But not in a bad way, which probably surprises Steve the most about all this.

Other Steve’s posture is confident and easy. When he talks, his tone and words are self-assured, controlled and calm. He clearly doesn’t carry the weight Steve feels like he carries with him on his shoulders from a day-to-day basis ever since he woke up in the future. Hell, probably ever since Project: Rebirth. He has laugh lines. And he’s _smiling. _An honest-to-God, genuine smile as if he enjoys being exactly where he is.

The sight of him leaves Steve baffled, in more ways than one.

“... You’re from the future?” Stark is asking when Steve brings himself back into the present. His tone is patently skeptical, and Steve doesn’t blame him in the least.

“Distant future,” Rogers clarifies, like that’s supposed to make a difference to the believability of his claims. “I’ve come to help you with your portal problem.”

“Wait, how do you know about that?”

“You’re the genius, Stark, why don’t you figure it out.” Rogers says the words strangely. They have no bite to them, only amusement, and Steve thinks the grin Rogers shoots Stark might hold more than an ounce of fondness in it.

That can’t be right.

Apparently Stark doesn’t think so, either, because he takes a slight step back, confusion etching itself into the lines of his face.

Rogers follows him, thrusting a piece of paper into his hands so Stark has no choice but to take it. “This should solve your problem. Tony said you’d understand it.”

Stark’s eyes slowly drop from Rogers’ face to the piece of paper, and after a second his jaw literally drops. “That’s my handwriting.”

“You don’t say.”

“Future me uses paper.”

“He thought you might get a kick out of that.”

Stark turns wide eyes back to Rogers, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out. Then he shakes his head and turns his attention back to the paper, actually seeming to read it this time. After a few seconds his eyebrows start to raise, and he says, “This is… brilliant. This is sheer _genius_, obviously… I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.”

Rogers rolls his eyes with the same fondness he’d used to grin at Stark before. “You know, I’d like to say I’d forgotten how egotistical you can be, but then I’d be lying.”

“So, will it work?” Romanoff speaks up for this first time, apparently the first of them besides Stark to have had the shock at seeing a different, older, _future _version of Steve worn off. She’s eyeing Rogers speculatively, but not doubtfully, and Steve really isn’t sure how to feel about that. He’s not really sure how to feel about any of this.

“Of course it’ll work,” Stark snaps, his eyes never leaving the page. “I’m the one who wrote it.”

And with that, Rogers steps back to address the room at large. He takes a deep breath, as if preparing to say something pivotal, and asks, “So, what are we having for dinner?”

*

Dinner is Mexican food, and Steve figures Stark must’ve ordered the entire menu for how much food arrives. Not that he’s complaining; he and Rogers alone could probably finish off three quarters of it without any help.

They’re all squished around the kitchen table, forgoing the dining table Stark has in the other room for reasons Steve has yet to discern (not that he’s going to make a fuss). Stark and Barton—who are apparently ready to believe Rogers is who he says he is—have taken to firing all sorts of questions at him, delighting whenever they can pull a real answer out of him. Rogers’ eyes never lose their keen, shrewd look, as if he knows exactly what they’re trying to do but is humoring them anyway. As if he _likes _it.

Banner is not-so-subtly observing him, Romanoff is doing a surprisingly poor job at keeping her interest hidden, and Steve himself has said hardly a word since they found Rogers in the penthouse.

He doesn’t know what to say, feels more awkward and off in his own skin than he ever has before, and the sight of this other him—cool, confident, and for all intents and purposes, _happy_—has him feeling adrift, separated from reality. Like he shouldn’t be here, like he was never supposed to be but freak chance happened.

Steve doesn’t dwell on it, and instead thinks about how they should be spending more time strategizing for tomorrow, when the portal will open once more and then they can finally close it for good. He still doesn’t say anything, though, figuring he can just plan for the attack tonight and tell the team about it in the morning. At least he’s had his shower.

He can’t help his own constant appraisal of other Steve. His eyes keep getting drawn back to the laugh lines surrounding his eyes and mouth, something unbelievable about them making him check again and again to see if they’re still there the next time he looks. It’s then that he realizes Rogers hasn’t glanced in his direction _once _since he got here, and with that dawning comprehension, something in the pit of Steve’s stomach goes cold.

It’s silly, stupid even, but it hurts that the other version of him won’t even acknowledge him, that his teammates seem more interested in Rogers than they ever have in Steve. The hurt turns to anger pretty quickly, and he wants to excuse himself, wants to throw his napkin on the table and stomp off to his room. But that’s not the sort of thing he does, not the way he’s ever liked to deal with things, so he stays put.

Right as he’s thinking these thoughts, Rogers suddenly turns to face him and a bright grin full of warmth lights his face. Steve is so unprepared for it that he almost automatically smiles back, but he ends up frowning instead, quickly glancing away. When he looks again, Rogers’ attention is already back on Stark.

Steve ends up excusing himself soon after that, although there is no throwing or stomping involved, and as he leaves the pleasant atmosphere, something in his chest releases, and he can breathe easier again. He wonders if it’s because he just prefers to be alone, or if he’s alone because he doesn’t fit in with the rest of the team.

It’s a notion that weighs heavy on his mind, perpetually darkening his thoughts until there’s no saving his mood. He wants to hit the gym before he locks himself in his room and has to start planning strategies, but he knows it probably isn’t a good idea to tire himself out before a battle. Especially since the last few days have been so exhausting.

So he goes back to his room and does what he’s supposed to do like a good soldier, and it’s nearly midnight when he hears a knock at his door. He doesn’t know who would need him at this time of night, but his best guess is Natasha. He doesn’t particularly want to talk to her—or anyone for that matter—but he still stands up from his desk and answers the door.

What he’s not expecting is to see himself on the other side. It’s a bit disorienting for a moment, but then the differences between them pop out like they’re defined by a highlighter and Steve scrutinizes the way Rogers is smiling that same smile, his laugh lines apparent and impossible to ignore, and comes to the conclusion that he really wishes he’d just go away. Back to his own time, or whatever, so he won’t keep reminding Steve of how not happy he is.

“Hey,” Rogers greets, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. Steve thought he only did that when he was nervous, but apparently it can be a casual gesture, too.

“Hello?” Steve says uncertainly.

Rogers peeks his head around him to look in Steve’s room, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” But by the smirk playing on his lips, it’s clear he knows perfectly well what Steve’s doing.

“Strategizing,” Steve answers him, anyway, for lack of anything else to say. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“Eh,” Rogers shrugs. “It won’t be too bad. Want some help?”

Steve purses his lips and eyes him cautiously. Eventually, though, he nods and pulls the door open wide enough so Rogers has room to squeeze by.

Rogers is indeed helpful, and he provides some beneficial hints that Steve’s not entirely sure he should be telling him until he decides he doesn’t care about the intricacies of time travel. When they’re done, Steve is amazed to find that he might be able to go to sleep feeling at ease.

“Wow,” Rogers blurts suddenly, after a couple minutes spent silently contemplating their work. “I don’t remember frowning so much.”

Steve flinches at Rogers’ fingers brushing against his lips, his frown deepening before the words register and he catches himself. A wave of hurt crashes over him, unrelenting and painful, and he tries to force it away, off of him, but the words coming from _himself _are almost too much to bear. Rogers should know, should _understand _that it isn’t easy for him, because while he would never even conceive of mentioning it to anyone else, he at least knows himself.

“Hey, no,” Rogers comes closer, and closer still when Steve tries to move away from him until he’s backed into the wall. Rogers stops then, evidently remembering that he doesn’t like to feel caged in—at least, that’s what Steve is thinking—and says quietly, “Look, if there’s anything I’ve learned about living in the future, it’s that here it’s okay to not be okay.”

“I’m fine,” Steve insists, already feeling his hackles rising just like he did when Fury mentioned therapy to him after a couple weeks out of the ice.

“Yeah, sure.” Rogers takes another step forward and inexplicably reaches for Steve’s waist. “You know, Rogers, you have five potential awesome friendships waiting for you outside that door if you just allow yourself to let them in.”

Steve latches onto the least threatening part of that statement, because of course he does.   
“Five?”

“Oh, that’s right. Thor hasn’t come back yet, has he? Well, he will, and there’s more where he came from. But we don’t have to get into that right now; I don’t want to scare you off with the idea of anybody caring about you.”

With that Rogers leans in until their chests are touching, and then he tilts his head forward and—

“What’re you do—?”

Steve’s objection is thoroughly cut off, because Rogers is kissing him. _Kissing _him. Steve’s whole body almost revolts, but then Rogers gently places his hand at the nape of Steve’s neck, his thumb comfortingly stroking the skin there, and Steve is resolutely stuck in place.

This is wrong, probably, but _God_, he hasn’t been touched by anyone in _so long_. No one in this time wants to get too close, and while he doesn’t blame them, he still wishes they would. And now that someone is, no matter that it’s just another version of himself, he finds that he craves the touch, the heat, the utter _nearness_.

Rogers nudges at his lips, softly at first, but then his pushing steadily becomes firmer, deeper, and the hand on Steve’s waist drops to his ass and _squeezes_.Steve whines embarrassingly against Rogers’ lips and surges forward, his hands flying up to grip Rogers’ hair, fingers digging into the soft bristles shorn shorter than Steve’s own.

“C’mere,” Rogers gasps out, wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling. It takes Steve a moment to realize that he’s dragging him to the bed, but he’s completely on board once he figures it out.

Rogers turns them around right when they get to the bed, shoving at his chest until Steve drops down and lies back. He watches Rogers crawl over him up the bed until their lips are mere inches apart, Steve’s breathing fast and uneven, the weight and heat of the other him almost electrifying. It’s harder to breathe now than it has been since he got the serum, but he isn’t reminded of his asthma or his frail, weak body.

It’s impossible to think of anything but the big, muscled body covering his own, impossible to see anything but the endless _blue_ of Rogers’ eyes as they stare into his own, pupils blown wide and filled with irrefutable _want_.

Rogers leans forward again, this time bypassing Steve’s lips and going for his jaw. He kisses and nibbles and licks the skin there, Steve so lost in the pleasure of it that he doesn’t realize Rogers is working his shirt up until he grows frustrated and impatient with it, ripping it from Steve’s torso and tossing the remains to the floor beside the bed.

Steve watches this happen with wide eyes, his blood heating his veins and rushing south so fast it actually dizzies him. He’s trying to catch his breath when he says, “You could have just asked me to take it off.”

“I could have,” Rogers agrees easily between kisses to Steve’s neck, travelling down. “But Tony assures me that it’s ‘so fucking hot’ when I take it off that way.”

Steve almost doesn’t register the words, but when he does, he gawks. “What?”

At that moment, Rogers’ thumb brushes against Steve’s nipple, stealing the breath from his lungs and the thought from his mind. The touch sends jolts coursing through his entire body, and he can do nothing but lie there uselessly as Rogers brushes his nipple again before covering the hardened peck with his warm, wet mouth.

Steve jerks, fists clenching in his sheets, his sensitive hearing catching the low _rip_ as they tear, no match for Steve’s strength. “R-Rogers,” he groans, arching into the touch, one hand unclenching from the sheets to grip at Rogers’ shoulder. Rogers’ mouth moves back up to Steve’s jaw, right below his earlobe, his breath a hot puff that sends shivers racing down Steve’s spine. “_Please._”

“What do you want, baby?” The term of endearment should be weird, inappropriate even, but it’s not. It just makes Steve feel cared for. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

“I—” Steve chokes off in a moan as he feels Rogers’ fingers trailing hotly from his chest to the seam of his pants, igniting something wild deep inside him. “I don’t— I want…” He can’t finish, doesn’t know how because he doesn’t know _what _he wants. He just knows he wants more of this, wants everything Rogers is willing to give him.

“Shh, shh,” Rogers hushes him, pressing his lips to the corners of Steve’s closed eyes with so much tenderness that prickles of wetness begin to pool behind his eyelids. A single tear comes free when Steve squeezes his eyes shut tighter that disappears almost immediately from the press of Rogers’ lips to his temple. “It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you.”

Rogers starts this by unbuttoning Steve’s slacks, reverently drawing them down his legs. Then his fingers trace the seam of Steve’s underwear, almost teasing, but Steve knows Rogers’ is simply searching for permission. He nods, unable to look his other self in the eye, hissing when Rogers carefully pulls down the elastic of his underwear over his throbbing erection. Steve kicks off the shoes he’d forgotten he was still wearing, and helps as much as he can to remove his pants and underwear all the way.

There’s a vulnerability in laying himself entirely bare at his own mercy. He isn’t nervous or afraid, though. He trusts that Rogers will do what he said. Will take care of him. With this last inhibition put to rest, Steve lets his legs fall open, lets himself be completely exposed.

Rogers lowers his head, slowly, and presses a kiss to Steve’s hipbone. Steve’s toes curl as Rogers presses more kisses inward, his hands gripping Steve’s waist in a firm grasp, but not hard enough to leave bruises. And then finally, _finally_, Rogers’ mouth comes in contact with Steve’s cock. His hot breath gusts over it, makes it twitch almost painfully, and then in the next second his tongue is lapping at the pre-cum leaking from Steve’s slit.

Rogers seizes Steve’s hips before they can arch more than a couple inches off the mattress, shoving him back down roughly and holding him there. When it’s evident Steve won’t be able to make anymore sudden movements, Rogers leans back down and, in one smooth motion, envelops Steve’s cock in his mouth. Steve cries out, both hands coming up to grasp the back of Rogers’ head, his feet kicking out involuntarily.

Rogers settles his weight on top of Steve’s legs so he can’t kick or struggle, and it’s a relief. Steve needs the pressure, because he can’t control himself. He grunts and moans and sobs with pleasure as Rogers sucks wetly, swirling his tongue around the head and pushing against the vein throbbing on the underside of it.

A few seconds later, Steve feels Rogers’ hand move down to cradle his balls, gently fondling, and then Steve is coming, his orgasm wrenched out of him unrelentingly.

Steve lays there shuddering in the aftermath, the image of Rogers _swallowing _every last drop of come replaying over and over in his head on a loop.

The bed dips as Rogers crawls back up it to settle on top of him. His arms bracket Steve’s head, his weight a comforting pressure as he asks, “You alright?”

Steve can only manage a short grunt of affirmation, still trying to catch his breath. Sweat is already pooling in the dip between his collarbones, and he shivers as cool, circulated air blows against his damp skin. His gaze eventually fastens on Rogers’ face, and he is again struck by how similar, and yet how remarkably different they look.

“What?” Rogers asks, noticing Steve’s curious gaze.

“You have a lot of laugh lines,” Steve blurts stupidly.

Rogers chuckles, a grin lighting up his face. “Well, I’m happy a lot,” he says, easy and honest. He drops down to quickly peck Steve’s lips before continuing, “You can be, too, you know. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Steve swallows and looks away. He can’t think of any other response than, “But you would lie about other things?”  
  


Rogers smirks. “Depends.” He suddenly thrusts against Steve, and it’s only then that Steve becomes aware of the bulge pressing against his leg, the fabric of Rogers’ jeans straining. Rogers must see something in Steve’s expression that makes him say, “What, you didn’t think we were done, did you, old man? Don’t tell me you’re already tired.”

“Shut up.” Steve pushes up and presses back against Rogers, using his leg to brush up against his erection. Rogers hisses and sits up, unbuttoning his jeans and peeling off all his clothes in record time. When he lays back down on Steve, he’s completely naked and bare skin touches bare skin, heating Steve practically to his bones. His flagging cock perks up again almost instantly, rubbing up against Rogers’ own tantalizingly. Rogers spits in his hand and grabs both of their cocks at once, jerking them with practiced fingers.

Steve throws his head back with a cry, panting harshly as Rogers arches his hips for a bit more friction. “_Shit!_”

“C’mon, Steve, tell me what you want,” Rogers implores, tightening his grip around their cocks until it’s almost too much. “Tell me.”

Their bodies rock in unison, Steve lost in the motion for a moment before he can tug himself away from the overwhelming pleasure of it all long enough to reply, “You…” He whimpers when Rogers twists his hand sharply, changing angles. “You… inside me.”

“_Fuck_.” Rogers jerks away all of a sudden, leaving Steve feeling helplessly cold and exposed.

“Wha—?” Steve starts to protest. “Where are you going?”

“Hang on.” Rogers leaves the bed and grabs his jeans, splayed in a pile where he tossed them on the floor. He hurriedly pats them down without much finesse, and when it finally dawns on Steve what he’s looking for, he can’t do much else but stare and gape.

“You… planned this?”

“I knew this was going to happen,” Rogers corrects, holding up a bottle of lube in an ‘aha!’ gesture. “There’s a difference.”

Rogers climbs back onto the bed, settling on top of Steve and kissing him again before he can raise anymore objections. Not that Steve was going to. He pulls back to pop open the lid of the lube, pouring out a generous amount onto his fingertips before snapping it shut again, casting the bottle onto the mattress without care.

“Tell me if this is okay.” Rogers resituates them until he’s between Steve’s legs, and then his hand finds its way down to Steve’s hole, his index finger circling once, twice teasingly. Steve’s breath hitches when his finger finally slips inside the slightest bit, slick and intruding.

“Good?” Rogers asks, holding his hand steady, not pushing or retreating without Steve’s say so. When Steve doesn’t answer immediately, he says, “We can stop if you want to. Everything’s up to you, baby.”

Steve shakes his head immediately. “No, I just…” He gives himself a few more seconds to adjust and steady his breathing before he says, “Keep going.”

Rogers obeys at once, pushing his finger past the rim all the way to the second knuckle. He leans forward as he does so, bracing himself with one elbow next to Steve’s head, tipping his chin down to kiss Steve some more. Steve’s distracted by it enough that he hardly even notices Rogers pushing his finger all the way in. The extra stimulation allows Rogers to draw it out and push it back in without further resistance from Steve. He starts a rhythm that Steve focuses on intently as Rogers continues to pepper kisses all over his face. _Back and forth, back and forth._

Eventually Rogers slips in a second finger beside the first one, and he pushes in and out once, twice before crooking his fingers _just so _and white-hot pleasure courses through Steve like an explosion in his core, making his veins positively sing. He jerks and moans so loud he fears the other Avengers might hear, which is, of course, ridiculous seeing as they all reside on different floors. Still Steve clenches his jaw shut, breathing heavily through his nose.

At three fingers, Steve convinces himself he’s ready. He says so to Rogers, who looks about as dishevelled as Steve feels, which is odd seeing as he’s been the one doing all the work to please Steve.

“You sure?” Rogers is already removing his fingers from Steve’s hole, grabbing the lube to slick his cock before lining it up with his entrance. Steve nods encouragingly, only doubting himself when he actually feels the blunt impact of the head of Rogers’ cock at his rim. It seems almost impossibly huge. Way bigger than Steve’s own. He doesn’t let that scare him, though, locking eyes with Rogers and giving him a determined nod.

Rogers pushes in with a grunt, and Steve thrashes. It’s too much, _too much_, and Rogers looks like he’s about to pull out, and Steve _can’t let him._ So he locks his legs around Rogers’ waist and pulls him closer, doing his best to ignore the burn of his cock pressing deeper inside. With one last heave, Rogers is seated fully inside him, and Steve groans with pleasure-pain bursting in sparks from that place deep inside him, his eyes squeezing shut.

Once he’s better adjusted, he can hear Rogers whispering sweet nothings in his ear, a hand brushing through the damp strands of his hair soothingly. Steve whines when he stays still for too long, shifting his hips and involuntarily clenching around Rogers.

“_Shit!_” Rogers half-chokes, half-groans. “You’re so fucking _tight, _baby, I can’t—” He breaks off and pulls halfway out before thrusting back in. He does this again, then again, then _again _and then his cock changes angle, pushes up and brushes against that same something magical inside him, that something that makes Steve positively _keen_.

“Yes!” he cries, locking his legs tighter and forcing Rogers to keep ramming into that spot. “Please! There.” Rogers doesn’t object, pulling back further until his cock almost slips out before driving forward again with a powerful thrust. Steve feels so impossibly full, so incredibly good, and he’s not going to last much longer. He needs… he needs… Steve grabs onto the back of Rogers’ neck and surges upward, slamming their lips together, teeth clacking painfully. “_Harder_,” he breathes against Rogers’ lips between kisses, broken and pleading.

Rogers makes a sound like a snarl and drives into Steve with the power only a supersoldier could possess, wrecking his prostate over and over and _over_. Steve is shoved over the edge by only Rogers’ cock, and he comes all over his chest and stomach, crying out as he does so. Rogers keeps pounding into him, relentless and wild, before he too groans loudly and pulses deep inside Steve. He fills Steve up, wet and hot and so good Steve sees _stars_.

A few seconds later, and Rogers collapses on top of Steve, forcing him to take all of his weight. Steve grimaces at the feel of his cock softening and sliding out of him, his seed following in its wake, leaving him uncomfortably slick.

After a few minutes Rogers rolls off of him, grabbing for the corner of a sheet and gingerly wiping his cock and stomach. He takes more care cleaning Steve and patting him dry, making sure not to chafe him. Then he tosses the sheet aside and grabs their underwear from the floor. Steve thinks he might accidentally pull on Rogers’ instead of his own, but he doesn’t mind in the least.

He ends up with his back pressed to Rogers’ front, his arm wrapped firmly around Steve’s waist. His heart rate has already calmed from the exertion, and he’s breathing steadily against the nape of Steve’s neck, his breath tickling the little hairs there.

Steve is so warm, spent, and sated that he’s almost asleep when a thought suddenly occurs to him. “You didn’t come here because of the portal, did you?”

Rogers laughs, his breath sending goosebumps rising across Steve’s skin. “Nah. Stark would have figured out the solution eventually.” He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s nape, and his voice is much lower when he admits, “I came here for you.”

Steve falls asleep to the echo of his own voice repeating those words over and over again in his head.

_I came here for you_.

*

Their plan for the portal goes off without a hitch the next day, due in no small part to Rogers’ aid, and the Avengers are waving the last of the aliens goodbye for good no later than lunchtime.

Rogers had confessed to Steve earlier that morning that Tony—his Tony—would be bringing him back to his own time later that day, promising, “Everything’s going to be okay, Steve,” when he’d seen the bereft look the admission had drawn from him. Steve didn’t try to oppress it, knowing by now that he couldn’t hide from himself.

Still, it had been with a heavy heart that Rogers kissed Steve one last time before the portal had been due to reopen, and they hadn’t found themselves alone together for the rest of the day.

Now the Avengers are congregating back in Stark’s penthouse, readying to see Rogers off. Rogers pats Steve on the shoulder in a friendly movement, a last goodbye, that reveals no hint of the intimacy they’d shared together last night.

“I don’t suppose we can send back Capsicle here in your place and keep you instead?” Stark drawls from his place by the bar, drink in hand.

The muscle in Steve’s jaw clenches, but Steve refuses to let the hurt these words inspire show in his expression. He keeps his gaze steady on Rogers, who’s staring back at him in turn.

“‘Fraid not,” Rogers says. “I’ve got people at home who need me to get back.” He puts subtle emphasis on the word _home_, his gaze unwavering on Steve. It’s a comforting reminder of the promise he made. “And as nice as it was seeing you folks again, I gotta admit I think I prefer my own Avengers.”

There’s one last round of goodbyes, and then Rogers just… _disappears_, like he was never here in the first place, taking a part of Steve with him as he goes.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing.

*

**Several Years Later**

“I know why you actually wanted to go back,” Tony deadpans as soon as Steve reappears on the platform.

“Do you now?” Steve steps down off the platform, removing the shield from its place on his shoulders. He hadn’t really needed to take it with him, but he prefers to have it near at all times.

“Yes. I do. And I gotta say, if I’d realized it sooner, I would have tried a lot harder to convince you to let me come with.”

Steve smiles and takes a step closer into Tony’s space, reaching his hands up to settle his palms on either side of Tony’s neck to mitigate the blow of his next words. “Mmm. I still wouldn’t have let you come.”

Tony grunts disapprovingly, a pout turning down the corners of his lips. “I cannot _believe _that all this time you let me believe _I _was the one who managed to pry that massive stick out of your ass—literally—when really it was _you_.”

“Shut _up_, Tony.” Steve leans down and catches Tony’s lips in a kiss, a little to give Tony something better to do with his mouth, but mostly just because he wants to. As Tony returns the kiss with a tenderness Steve hadn’t at first thought him capable of, he thinks of the Rogers he just left behind and _knows_, without a shadow of doubt, that,

_Yeah. He’s gonna be just fine._

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, and have a moment, I would really appreciate knowing your thoughts in the comments! Thank you very much :)
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](https://padraigendragon.tumblr.com/)!


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